No Bones About It
by Princess Pinky
Summary: Ashley was conceived in a graveyard at Midnight: this is the story of that fateful All Hallows Eve.


**A/N:** I know this isn't really in season, but I was just thinking about how Ashley was conceived on a grave and I thought it would make a great story to explore for in a fanfic. Just a word of warning, there is _a lot_ _of sexual innuendo_ towards the end of this story. There's nothing _extremely_ graphic, but there is some clothes removal at the end. So if you're not comfortable reading that, turn back now!

_**No Bones About It**_

Two children, one dressed in a shimmery green dress with gaudy bouncing fairy wings and the other sporting a classical jet black cloak and plastic white fangs, darted across the sidewalk and into the street, chasing after a group of children who were also dressed in a menagerie of costumes including animals, fruits, insects, and fictional characters.

Anne Juergens giggled as she twisted her head around as far as it would go until her muscles began to hurt. She watched pleasantly as the two stragglers caught up with their hide and disappeared down the street, leaving only the sounds of their laughing and giggling as proof that they'd ever been there at all. She squeezed her husband's hand and sighed contentedly as they strode down the sidewal, arm-in-arm.

"I can't wait 'til Amy's that old," she said wistfully. "Won't it be great, George? Being able to help her pick out her costume, taking her from house to house, helping her sort through her candy-"

"Eating her candy-"

"_George." _Anne playfully swatted him in the chest and rolled her eyes. "I'm serious." She sighed, looking somewhat disappointed. "I was really excited for this Halloween…I wish she hadn't gotten sick. I was so excited-"

"Maybe it was meant to be? If she hadn't caught a cold…" he slid his hand around Anne's back and quickly pinched his wife's rear, causing her to shriek and hit him.

"_George!"_

George grinned, admiring his wife in the light of the street lamp as they passed beneath it: she was dressed in a just-above-knee-length pink eighties' dress accented with a fifties' style pearl necklace that had once belonged to Anne's mother, gaudy hot pink heels that were pointy enough to rival Cruella de Vil's, a ridiculous Pepto-Bismol colored wig, and a pink jacket embroidered with the name _Frenchy_. The dress itself had the first top three buttons undone, revealing just enough cleavage to tease him, but not enough to give too much away…whether he'd seen it before or not. "What?" he asked innocently. "I can't play with my wife?"

"We're in public!"

George glanced around shamelessly. "So?" he asked rhetorically. "There's only kids around, they don't know what's going on." He wriggled the fake, bushy eyebrows he'd stuck to his face earlier that evening suggestively. "Besides," he spoke, suddenly sounding like a perfect imitation of a pouting child, "can you really blame me? I've got this gorgeous Beauty School Dropout hanging onto my arm – teasing me with that skin tight little dress no less – and you expect me to behave myself too?" He swatted her on the behind again. "Sorry Doll, no dice!"

Anne jumped and her cheeks flushed darkly in the street light. "George," she whispered through gritted teeth, "can't you wait until we get _home_?"

"Not likely, Darlin'." He suddenly grabbed her around the waist and pushed her up against the metal gate, causing it to rattle. He pressed his lips to hers and kissed her passionately, prompting a moan from his young wife.

"George," Anne groaned from beneath his mouth, "George…" she pushed her hands to his chest, shoving him back. "Stop that! You're tickling me with that ridiculous fake mustache!"

George pinched the beginning of his handlebar mustache and ran them along the length of it. "You don't like?" he asked, sticking out a fat lip. "How can ya not like Wyatt Earp?" he asked in his best offended voice. As he spoke, he noticed the sign on the gate he'd pushed Anne again.

Anne frowned. "What're you looking at?" she asked, turning to see what his distraction was.

"It's a cemetery!" he explained, grinning like mad. "Hey-"

"No."

"Aw, Anne! Please?"

"No!"

"Pretty please?"

"Why?"

"You're not…_scared_, are you?"

"Wh-No! Of course I'm not scared, I just…don't want to walk in a cemetery at nearly midnight on Halloween."

"I'll be right there with you," he promised, once again taking his wife's hand in his and squeezing it. "_Pleeeeease?_ It'll be great! It'll be a story we can tell the kid." He tugged her arm. "Come on!"

Anne growled under her breath and reluctantly allowed George to pull her into the cemetery. She wasn't fond of cemeteries in the daylight though, so she definitely wasn't digging in being in one at night…on the night of ghosts and goblins no less. She glanced around as goose pimples formed along her skin. Each crunch of leaves and shadowy tree branch made her quiver, but she bit her lip to keep from screeching. She refused to let George know she really _was_ scared.

George on the other hand had wide eyes. He was looking around anxiously as they moved at a snail's pace between the headstones. He didn't even notice he practically had to drag Anne behind him. He'd never been a big believer in the supernatural, but it was Halloween, and if there was ever a night to prove or disprove the existence of ghosts, it might as well be with his wife in a cemetery on October 31.

"We can't leave Amy with my mother all night," Anne whispered, her voice cracking like the leaves beneath their feet. "We really should get home."

"Just a few more minutes," he replied evenly. "We've hardly got a chance to look at anything! And we certainly haven't gotten to the back of the cemetery where the really old graves are. That's where the ghosts will be-"

"Ghosts?"

George chuckled. "You're not afraid of some silly old ghost, are ya Anne?"

"Ghosts don't exist," she replied stubbornly.

"Good," he grinned in the darkness, "then you have nothing to worry about." He tugged her arm, causing her to stumble in her pointy pink heels. "Come on, we haven't got all night!"

Anne grumbled as she felt sand make its way into her shoes as she tried to keep up with her husband. She could not believe he was actually making her do this! "You are so not getting any tonight," she seethed under her breath.

George laughed as they scurried far into the back of the graveyard, finally making it to the graves that were so old that the names were barely readable, if they had names at all. Several of the headstones were also breaking apart, so the land was scattered with chunks of granite and stone dating back a hundred years or more.

"This is the best Halloween I think we've ever had!" he bellowed into the night.

"Speak for yourself." Anne sneered, though George was too busy laughing to hear her. She stumbled and tripped as he pulled her along. As annoyed and angry as she was at him, she still had no intention of releasing his hand and allowing him to leave her stranded by herself.

"Oh!" George stopped and stuck out his finger like a pointing dog. "Hey, did you see that?"

"See what?" Anne gasped, suddenly frozen in place. She looked around, but only felt the cold wind on her skin. She didn't see or hear anything besides its low moans. She shivered. "Quit trying to scare me! There's nothing there."

"No," he shook his head confidently, "I swear I saw something. It was like _fshew_ and then it was gone! Let's go find it!" He rashly jerked her arm in the alleged direction of where he'd seen something.

Anne quivered. "George please!" she begged, not paying attention to where she was going. The pointed toe of her shoe caught onto a chunk of old stone and she toppled forward into her husband. A cloud of gravel rose up around them. As it dissipated, Anne found herself atop her husband, who had apparently broken her fall over a grave.

George wriggled his eyebrows. "Ooh, Anne, tackling me in a graveyard? I didn't know you were so kinky!"

Anne thudded her fists against his chest. "Shut up, George! I wanna go!" She tried to push against him and get up, but George grabbed her wrists with a handcuff like grip and held her there, chained to him.

"Not so fast," he grinned. "I'm totally turned on right now." He kissed her suddenly, forcing it to last until he felt her fists loosen against his chest. Then he released her hands, but she didn't try to move again. He promptly wrapped his hands around her back and rolled her over, so he was on top. "You look _so_ _hot_ right now," he said as her pink wig fell off to reveal her red curls, "you have _no idea!_"

Anne felt herself blush. And worse, she was pretty sure she wasn't feeling the toy gun George had bought to go with his Wyatt Earp costume against her thigh. Truth be told, it was turning her on…and she _never_ in her wildest dreams thought she could get turned on in a _graveyard!_

George slid his hand up her leg, slipping it between her skin and her tight pink dress. He wiggled his fingers as he slipped them up her leg like a snake. He kissed her again, but instead of pulling away, he trailed his mouth from hers to her neck and down her shoulder in the sensual way he knew gave his wife butterfly chills.

Anne closed her eyes as a soft mewl escaped her lips. She arched her back off the gravel in a fit of moans and found herself grasping to unclasp George's western belt buckle. She couldn't believe what she was actually doing. If she removed the buckle, she'd have to go for the zipper, and if she removed the zipper, that could only mean _one thing_.

"You know we could get caught," he whispered before nibbling on her earlobe. It was something else that drove Anne crazier than an asylum during a full moon.

"_Screw getting caught,"_ she babbled as she tore off his belt buckle and struggled to find the zipper on his jeans.

George chuckled and proceeded to undo another button on Anne's dress with his teeth. "I love what raging hormones do to you."

"How do you know it's even me?" she questioned in time with the telltale sound of a ripping zipper. "Maybe it's something else? _Maybe,_" she looped her fingers through the belt loops on his jeans and yanked them, "I'm just a woman _possessed!_"

"Well I won't make no bones about that," George smirked as he pushed up Anne's dress. "Well…except for maybe _one_."

Anne slapped his face, just hard enough to sting but not hard enough to do any damage. "Oh just shut up and make this an All Hallows Eve to remember!"

Somewhere in the city an old church tower clock began to chime the hour of Midnight at the same time that ghostly moans of passion filled the graveyard as Anne and George poured their souls into one another.


End file.
